Killing Two Birds With One Healthy Dollop of Polenta

About lunchtime on the Saturday, we headed off for my special weekend in the mountains. The whole of my family was coming as well as my host dad's sister and brother-in-law and several of their friends. We were going to be a merry party indeed.

The house belonged to the brother-in-law and it was very traditional as well as very beautiful. It was nestled in a valley inamongst the furry hills of Val Trompia (funny, I know) and beyond. In a way it was one of life's great missed opportunities as if it had been built just a little higher the views would have been really incredible; anyway it wasn't. So we move on.

There was loads of nature and other miscellaneous pretty things to look at and at last I could get down to some proper relaxation. I don't regret a second of my time in Concesio, but after two weeks of camp after having never taught before, this was just what the doctor ordered.

The family welcomed me in, gave me a room and as it was Italy we probably sent out for pizza for dinner - really good pizza too. Come on, all pizza in Italy is good...

(At this point I'm going to interject with another anecdote. One evening I went with my fam to visit my host mum's brother. He lives in a beautiful plain just beyond Val Trompia in a wine region. We went so I could sample some pizza the like of which "I would have never experienced before". Apparently it had a thicker base - Italian pizzas are known for being crispy thin, whereas American pizzas are the thicker ones. Anyway, this revolutionary new pizza, it transpired, was an American pizza. That said I didn't have the heart to tell them it was the kind of pizza we buy in the supermarkets...)

So, back to the mountain house... It was chilly that night - July it may have been, but in the mountains, there's always a bit of a nip in the air at night. Keeping the food-y theme, I woke up the following morning to the smell of something really good cooking. That morning my host mum and the antagonistic pregnant sister (I don't blame her, it must have been 35 degrees) had got up at 7am to prepare a traditional Brescian Sunday banquet. I love my food - I'll try anything once, and fortunately, that mantra came into its own...

The centrepiece of this magnificent banquet was uccellini - baby birds. Yum. They'd been cooked all day and instead of eating them warts an' all, you ate them bones an' all, oh, and the beaks. As I was the guest of honour, I got three to myself. Goody. There was a heathly dollop of polenta and a very rich creamy sauce. I helped myself to a selection of vegetables and then eyed the uccellini again.
'You used to be a sparrow. In fact you still look like one.' I said to myself...
There was no way I could refuse to eat them and it would have been grossly offensive to their strict ideas of hospitality. So I ate them. All. (Except the beaks. That was too far.)

You know what... they tasted good. They tasted even better with the polenta, and they were delicious with the rich creamy sauce. I'm converted. Completely. I take pot shots at sparrows in my garden in the hopes I can re-create it. Jokes. But I'd definitely have them again.

So after a shaky start to dinner, I had a wonderful afternoon: amazing food and I was taught to play an unusual Brescian card game. I tried really hard to make the most of it all, as the following day, I was moving on.